Can't Help Falling In Love With You
by Hyper4Hetalia
Summary: '"May I have this dance?" Alfred surprised him by asking, his voice low and soft, his face closer to Arthur's than he could remember it ever being. He was helpless to do anything but nod, his heart throwing itself frantically against his chest.' Its England's birthday, and America has a special surprise waiting for him. USUK oneshot. Fluff! Gift Fic. (Not a songfic)


Arthur Kirkland flipped down the car mirror above his head, checking his reflection for the millionth time that day, tugging at the hem of the misty green shirt that made his eyes pop in all the right ways. He brushed a hand across his forehead, ensuring that not a single strand of sunshine yellow hair was out of place.

_Deep breaths, old chap._ He told himself, exhaling deeply through his nose. _Its only Alfred. No reason to get so nervous_. Of course, he sincerely doubted it was just Alfred. Knowing the American, this 'get-together' he had planned for Arthur's birthday that day was probably going to turn into a loud, thriving party full of Nations the Brit would not care to see and an endless stream of all-you-can-eat hamburgers and milkshakes provided by America's 'finest' eating establishment.

Honestly, Arthur wouldn't be surprise if every Nation in the world was already waiting on the other side of Alfred's door, waiting to jump out and scream a surprise so deafeningly loud that Arthur would be hard of hearing for the next week.

The personification of The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland glanced toward the digital clock on his dashboard, which read seven o'clock on the dot. He had been sitting in Alfred's unnecessarily long drive-way for the past nine minutes in counting, working up the nerve to go inside. God he hated parties, and all the attention being focused around himself would only make it worse. But he supposed that Alfred was only trying to do a kind thing, and it would be impolite to not show up for a celebration in his honor. And so with another long, bracing breath, he got out of the car and began to the climb up the smooth pavement.

Alfred's Pennsylvania house had always been one of Arthur's favorites. The American, of course, owned a home in each of his fifty states, but dwelled most often at his residences in Washington DC and New York City. This particular house sat on top of a private hilltop surrounded by rolling midnight-blue mountains, overlooking gilded, glistening fields of grain. Wildflowers dotted the hillside which gave way to thick evergreen forests where deer constantly weaved in and out between the trees. The house itself was large, but not nearly as extravagant or flashy as some of Alfred's other homes. The entire structure was built entirely of mahogany, the dark red catching the fading rays of the setting sun and practically glowing with warmth. It was beautiful, picturesque even, the kind of place Arthur himself would want to live- away from people, away from the noise of the city, separate from the cruel realities of life.

Arthur stepped up onto the porch, reaching for the brass knocker on the center of the door with a tiny, anxious smile; there was another thing he loved about this house- no obnoxious doorbell.

No noise came from inside, which surprised the Brit. With a house full of Nations, it was next to impossible to make them all stay quite, even if it was for a surprise. Arthur had to hand it to Alfred, he must be trying really hard to surprise him.

After a moment the door didn't open, and Arthur frowned. Alfred _had_ said to come to his Pennsylvanian house, right? He pulled out his phone and checked the text message again. Yes, this was the right place. So where was Alfred? He reached out in front of him, knocking again, louder this time.

He heard something crash and a soft swear from inside the house, followed by a few heavy footsteps. "U-Uh, its open!" Alfred's voice called from inside.

Arthur's thick eyebrows furrowed in suspicion and he turned the handle of the doorknob, slipping inside. The interior of the house was open and uncluttered, all done in the same beautiful mahogany. All of the furniture and wall decorations were done in warm tones of beige, maroon and brown. One of the first things he noticed that it was empty of an party-going Nations. Then there came a rustling sound from his left and he turned the corner into a wide, spacious kitchen.

Standing in the center was Alfred F. Jones, personification of the United States of America. He wore a dismayed expression on his handsome face, his baby-blue eyes staring forlornly down at a splatter of dough on the hardwood floors. He wore a burgundy, flowered apron around his waist, a pair of black dress pants and a robin's egg-blue button down shirt. The air was thick and sweet with the scent of something delicious that made Arthur's mouth start to water.

Alfred's eyes flickered up to meet Arthur's and he blushed, offering him a sheepish smile and reaching up to wipe a speck of flour off the lens of his glasses. "Hey Iggy," One interesting thing about Alfred was that his accent changed to accommodate whichever state he was in. This was also one of Arthur's favorites; it wasn't as whiney or nasal as it could be other times, rather deeper and softer. The sound of it could sometimes even send chills down his spine.

"Alfred, what are you doing?" Arthur found himself smiling, crossing the kitchen to grab a dishtowel from the cabinet under the sink, kneeling by the American's feet to sweep the dough and stray splatters of flour off the nice floor before it ruined them.

"Well, I was _trying_ to make bread." Alfred sighed, retrieving a dustpan from seemingly nowhere, nearing next to the Brit and holding it steady while he swept in the ruined contents.

Arthur glanced at his former colony in surprise; he knew Alfred could cook but he didn't do it often. He claimed it was 'easier' to drive all the way out to McDonald's and gorge himself on hormone-laced beef. "Um. Why?" was all he could think to say in his state of shock.

Alfred shrugged his broad, muscular shoulders, straightening up and turning his back shyly to the shorter blonde, dumping the ruined dough in the waste bin. "I wanted to make you dinner for your birthday." He admitted in the mumbled, quiet voice that never ceased to remind Arthur of Alfred's younger self.

Warmth blossomed in Arthur's chest, unfolding its petals and injecting a rush of excitement through his veins, waking the flock of butterflies in his stomach that never ceased to be aroused by the American's presence. Alfred was cooking for him? He had thought to do something personal and intimate for Arthur's birthday rather than throwing him a party with tons of alcohol and a large, fluorescent cake? Alfred… had actually considered what might make _Arthur_ happy?

He was stunned into silence, a smile spreading automatically on his lips, a light blush dusting his cheeks. Alfred turned back around to meet his silence, confused by his guest's expression. "Uh, Iggy?" he waved his hand in front of his face. "You okay?"

Arthur's smile broke into a full grin and he stepped forward, slipping his slender arms around Alfred's middle and burying his face in the warmth of his chest, breathing out a content sigh. Alfred smelled amazing, like clean clothing and the scent just before it rained; Arthur could have drowned happily in it for the rest of his life. This close he was able to hear Alfred's heart quite literally skip a beat when he felt the close contact, and gradually the American's arms wrapped around his waist in return.

"Thank you, Alfred." Arthur whispered, content to never move from that spot, that perfect movement that left him breathless and made his heart pound pleasantly in his ears. "That's the nicest thing anyone has done for me in a long time."

Arthur heard Alfred's breath catch, and then the arms around his waist tightened ever so slightly, pulling him closer. "Don't mention it, Iggy." He whispered softly in his ear, and Arthur could have sworn he felt Alfred's lips brush against the junction between his neck and jaw, sending his mind reeling and tremors of heat down his spine.

Arthur's knees were beginning to grow weak, muscles and tendon and bone melting away to wobbling, wiggling jelly. His fingers clenched around the soft, fragrant fabric of Alfred's shirt, and he knew that if he didn't pull away soon he wouldn't be able to support himself much longer.

Luckily, Alfred did that for him, leaning back and holding Alfred at arm's length. "Well, it won't be fresh or homemade, but I do have some bread around here somewhere." He said, releasing the shorter nation to begin rooting through the cabinets, at last withdrawing a long loaf of baguette. He removed its see-through plastic covering, cutting off a few pieces. "Everything else is ready." He told Arthur. "You can go take a seat in the living room if you'd like."

Arthur nodded reflexively, turning on his heel and making his way into the next room. The dining table was large enough to sit several people, but only two chairs were positioned at either end. An ornate crystal basin sat in the center of the table, several fragrant red roses drifting peacefully on the surface of the water. There were dozens of autumn-colored candles placed strategically about the room (no doubt the source of the sweet smell he had caught before), casting the room in bold tones of gold and dramatic shadows. Two covered silver dishes were placed in front of each of the seats, with a glass placed to their upper right. By God, Alfred had even somehow managed to get formal place setting correct. Not only that, but there was something distinctly romantic about the look of it all, intensifying the already present glow of warmth in Arthur's cheeks.

He sat slowly down at the table, heart pounding as he listened to the sounds of Alfred moving about the kitchen. The floor boards creaked under his weight and something clinked, then his footsteps drew closer.

Alfred appeared under the archway with a basket of bread in one hand and a bottle of champagne in the other. Arthur's wallet trembled in his pocket just looking at the label; he did _not_ want to know what Alfred had to do to get that from the frog. Francis did not part from his champagne easily.

The American set the basket of bread down between them, popping the cork off the champagne and holding out his hand for Arthur's glass. The Brit blushed and silently passed him the cup, watching the amber liquid spill into its clear container, foam raising and almost spilling over the rim. Alfred handed it back to Arthur wordlessly, poured his own glass, then set the remainder of the bottle on the other side of the rose basin.

He crossed to an old record player in the corner of the room, retrieving an old vinyl disk from the top of the pile and setting it down on its proper place on top of the contraption. The record began to turn, skipping in a few slow circles until soft, sweet music finally flooded the room.

Alfred turned back to the table and slipped almost gracefully into his seat, facing his guest with an almost nervous smile. Arthur, on the other hand, was completely enchanted. Now here was a side of Alfred he had never seen- calm, quite, put-together, thoughtful… _romantic_; Arthur couldn't get enough of it.

"Well," The America said, reaching up to fiddle almost self-consciously with his glasses. "Dig in. I hope you like it."

"I.. I'm sure I will." Arthur had to struggle to get the words out without choking on them. He pulled the silver top off his meal, looking down at a meal of some kind of expensive-looking steak and mashed potatoes drizzled with red wine sauce on what was undoubtedly the most expensive piece of china Alfred owned. God, it smelled heavenly, too. "A-Alfred, this looks amazing." He said sincerely, shocked.

"Really?" A look of relief spread across the younger nation's features. "Oh thank God. I've been cooking all day to get it just right." He seemed to be sitting eagerly on the edge of his chair, watching Arthur expectantly.

Arthur shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny but knew what Alfred wanted, carefully lifted his fork and knife and cutting off a sliver of the tender meat. He was relieved to find that it had been cooked to perfection with absolutely no pink color inside, just the way he liked. He trailed the piece of steak through a puddle of the gleam red sauce, then brought it to his lips, chewing carefully and calculative.

It turned out that his former colony was a surprisingly skilled cook. _He must get that from me,_ Arthur thought boastfully to himself as the food practically melted on his tongue in a burst of rich flavor.

Alfred was still watching him like a hawk, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his own utensils in suspense. "So?" His voice cracked slightly. "Do you like it?"

Arthur smiled at the American's child-like behavior and obvious attempts to impress him. "It's delicious, Alfred." He assured him, taking another bite to prove that he did indeed enjoy it.

Alfred let out a sigh of relief, slumping back against his seat with his usual wide grin. "That's good," He said, taking a careful bite of his mashed potatoes. This left Arthur absolutely shocked- Alfred was actually using proper table manners instead of shoveling everything in sight into his mouth! What in the world was going on with him!?

"Um, Alfred… are you okay?" Arthur asked hesitantly, leaning forward in his seat.

The taller of the two Nation's eyes flickered up to meet Arthur's over the rims of his glasses, pausing with a piece of steak halfway to his lips. "Yeah?" He asked, head tilted slightly to the side, a curtain of honey-colored hair sliding across his forehead.

Arthur's breath caught somewhere between his lungs and his throat and he glanced down quickly, suddenly unable to meet Alfred's brilliant blue gaze. Maybe he shouldn't question it; Arthur had been telling him for years that he needed to exercise better manners. "I just… want you to know that I really appreciate what you're doing." He said softly.

Arthur knew Alfred was beaming even though he couldn't see it. "No problem, Iggy." His voice came out softer than Arthur had expected it to.

His eyes still trained on his lap, the Brit reached across the table and lifted his glass of champagne, his hand shaking so much that he almost spilled the amber liquid onto the table cloth. He took a longer sip than he intended to, wanting desperately to do anything, look anywhere else but into Alfred's beautiful blue eyes….

Beautiful? Arthur nearly choked on the bubbly alcohol running down his throat, coughing awkwardly into his hand, his eyes stinging. Since when had he started thinking of Alfred as beautiful? That was certainly not an appropriate way to be thinking about someone whom had once been his colony, whom he had once loved like a little brother….

But that had changed, hadn't it? The Revolutionary War had happened, and Alfred himself had said those words that to this day haunted his dreams and occupied many of his thoughts: "You are no longer my big brother."

And though it had destroyed Arthur at the time to hear such a thing, he could admit that now he also no longer felt that way. When he looked at Alfred- who was taller than him, more muscular than him - he did not think of a little boy's whose hand he wanted to hold. Alfred was an adult now, a grown up Nation- a Super Power –and he could take care of himself. Arthur's love for him was still there, though it had changed….

….. He loved Alfred.

How had it taken him until now to realize?

He _loved_ Alfred.

Dear God, but what if Alfred didn't love him back? Sure, he was acting all sweet and romantic, and not to mention uncharacteristically considerate, but that did not mean that he returned his feelings… maybe he was just trying to be kind for Arthur's birthday.

The background music suddenly changed, catching Arthur's attention and interrupting his sudden whirlwind of frantic thoughts. It was a song he recognized instantly; from the moment he heard the first couple unmistakable notes of piano keys. The record was old, giving the music a grainy, rustic sound that Arthur couldn't help but love.

_'Wise men say, _

_only fools rush in…'_

Elvis Presley's voice drifted into the room with the softness and stealth of a whisper, sending a shiver down Arthur's spine. Even though he had been an American, Elvis's music had been just as popular in England during the 50s. The fact that Alfred shared his love for still listening to old music left him smiling- it seemed that they may actually have a few things in common.

_'But I can't help_

_ Falling in love with you.'_

Something warmer brushed Arthur's hand and he looked up quickly in surprise, his breath catching when he saw Alfred standing over him with a soft smile on his lips. His fingers slipped delicately around the older nation's thin wrists, guiding him fluidly into a standing position.

_'Shall I stay?_

_ Would it be a sin,'_

"May I have this dance?" Alfred surprised him by asking, his voice low and soft, his face closer to Arthur's than he could remember it ever being. He was helpless to do anything but nod, his heart throwing itself frantically against his chest.

'_If I can't help_

_ Falling in love with you?'_

Alfred drew him close so that their chests were pressed against each other, his arms sliding around Arthur's narrow waist. The smaller nation's arm instinctively went around the American's neck in return, making them both blush. They hadn't been this close in years… they had never embraced each other like this.

'_Like a river flows_

_ Surely to the sea,_

_ Darling so it goes,_

_ Somethings are meant to be.'_

Arthur had never seen Alfred dance, though after the Jazz Age he supposed it made sense that he would be bloody good at it. And he was. Alfred knew all the steps, turning them in flawless, slow rotations, keeping them always at a carefully close distance.

_'Take my hand,_

_ Take my whole life too…'_

Suddenly one of hands was against Arthur's cheek, delicately tilting his head toward Alfred's. The American's lips were close to his ear, his warm breath ghosting across his skin as he sang the next line in the softest, most perfect voice Arthur had ever heard.

_"For I can't help_

_ Falling in love with you."_

Arthur's eyelids fluttered shut before he felt Alfred's warm lips pressing against his own, gentle and careful, as though he were handling something delicate and fragile. Instantly each of their grips tightened on each other, and they didn't break apart even after the last verses faded into the silent evening.

_'Like a river flows_

_ Surely to the sea,_

_ Darling so it goes,_

_ Somethings are meant to be._

_ Take my hand, _

_Take my whole life too_

_For I can't help_

_Falling in love with you_

_For I can't help_

_Falling in love with you.'_

.

**Leigha,**

** There are not many people in life you can trust to always be there, to always have your back no matter what; a person who will drop whatever it is they are doing no matter where they are if you need them. There are few people in life who deserve the title of 'best friend'.**

** For me, you are this person.**

** You and I have been best friends since we were five, and thirteen years later that hasn't changed. Our friendship has withstood countless arguments and even the separation of going to different high schools; our friendship is something that only gets stronger with every passing day.**

** I love you so much, and I am **_**always**_** here for you. More than anything I want you to know how proud I am of you and everything you have accomplished, how proud I am of the intelligent, hard-working, respectful, brilliant young woman you have come to be. I know life can be hard and sometimes you may feel down on yourself but honey, your future is nothing but bright.**

** And no matter what, you'll always have me here to talk to and help you through the rough patches.**

** Happy eighteenth birthday.**

**Love,**

**Madi**


End file.
